


nights like this

by yunbun



Category: Falsettos - Lapine/Finn
Genre: Angst, Comfort, F/M, Falsettos - Freeform, Fluff, im so sorry, not too proud of it but have it, this hurt me, this took me ages i jus kept putting it off
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:00:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26562508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yunbun/pseuds/yunbun
Summary: Jason finds himself and his churning stomach enmeshed betwixt the muggy air suffocating him and his rough, tempestuously rough bedsheets in the early hours of a foggy Tuesday morning. He felt as if his insides were wound like a coil, ready to snap. His breath came in acute, shallow pants and it was like static was rushing through his limbs. He wanted to get up, he couldn't loll in his room with his emotions so contiguous to his swimming head. He needed to walk it off, to stim it off, to do anything to get rid of it. He settles for yelping out a meek, quiet, "Dad.", and even though he knew he'd receive no reply, it doesn't stop him from letting out a sharp sob, stomach hollowing out and nausea writhing up his dry throat. His shirt clings to his back for dear life with perspiration, not bothering to change out of his pyjamas, as he swings his legs over the edge of his bed, the action making his head swim.He knows it's risky, he really does.But that doesn't stop him.----------at 5am, jason visits marvin with a broken heart and an anxious soul, and mendel and marvin have a small heart-to-heart
Relationships: Marvin & Mendel Weisenbachfeld, Trina/Mendel Weisenbachfeld, Whizzer Brown/Marvin
Comments: 17
Kudos: 46





	nights like this

**Author's Note:**

> hi i know this is crappy but i'm sick and i'm trying lmaoo. this was a lil spur of inspiration, and it ended p badly, but i hope you like it!
> 
> jason is autistic though i Failed to write it well >;((
> 
> i love these two with all my heart i-

After Whizzer had passed, time seemed to stop.

The sun seemed dimmer, food seemed bland and roses didn't look as carmine as they had when Whizzer's eyes would light up and his smile would only widen. Marvin could barely drag himself out of the mellow, congenial grasp of his muted green duvet into the muggy, pathetic life which awaited him beyond his chipped wooden bedroom door, but by God did he try. He still took Jason for the weekends, not wanting to make his son, who was also mourning the death of a dear friend, feel like he couldn't bask in what used to be his other two dads house. Once, Jason had piped up that he wanted to go to, in his words, "Dad and Whizzer's house." And begged himself as he glared down at the floor with his bottom lip between his teeth not to cry.

Mendel and Trina were trying to get through to him on days where he wouldn't sit behind locked doors and sob until he felt empty. They'd originally given him a week off school to get over the initial shock and the days of depression and loneliness. They'd given him extra ice-cream, let him stay up later, even given him whatever he wanted just to get through the impassible haze and sturdy-built walls of anger and nothingness, to get through to their son. On the days they could, however, he'd give clipped replies and meek head shakes, eyes glued to the floor, glazed with burning tears. Mentioning his name seemed to cause the house to still, a dark, mournful blanket casted over their house, hollow aches in their chests causing even the flowers on their windowsill to wilt.

Trina was hurting. For Whizzer, Jason, Mendel, _everyone_. Especially Marvin. How his brain had been swallowed by grief, pain, depression. Charlotte and Cordelia would deliver updates on how his mental state was. They weren't expecting a perky, well-minded report, and they _certainly_ didn't receive it.

One murky Sunday's eve, Jason overheard Mendel and his mother's hushed whispers like the harsh crackles of fire murmuring something's about, "how will he cope," and "if it's true". If he had listened any further, he surely would've let the nausea overcome him.

Jason finds himself and his churning stomach enmeshed betwixt the muggy air suffocating him and his rough, _tempestuously_ rough bedsheets in the early hours of a foggy Tuesday morning. He felt as if his insides were wound like a coil, ready to snap. His breath came in acute, shallow pants and it was like static was rushing through his limbs. He wanted to get up, he couldn't loll in his room with his emotions so contiguous to his swimming head. He needed to walk it off, to stim it off, to do _anything_ to get rid of it. He settles for yelping out a meek, quiet, "Dad.", and even though he knew he'd receive no reply, it doesn't stop him from letting out a sharp sob, stomach hollowing out and nausea writhing up his dry throat. His shirt clings to his back for dear life with perspiration, not bothering to change out of his pyjamas, as he swings his legs over the edge of his bed, the action making his head swim.

He knows it's risky, he _really_ does.

But that doesn't stop him.

The note he leaves remains adhered to Mendel and Trina's kitchen fridge, written with aspiration that his mother won't murder him for taking himself out to the old, weary bus stop (sat aside a grime-covered gas station) to the bottom of the road of Ashburry Drive, with his bar mitzvah money, of course. It also promises that he'll be home for dinner, since he reckons that from - he glances to the clock sat above the door to the lounge, and the hands read 5:25 - five o'clock in the morning should be enough. As he swings his bag over his shoulder, he stops himself.

This is _crazy_. Right?

But then the image flashes back to him, burnt into his retinas. His father draped over the gravestone of his lover, sobs collapsing over him in waves, and his father is drowning. Whizzer was his lifeguard, Whizzer was his buoy, his safety, and now he's--

Jason chokes down a sob as tears resurface, and without any further thought, pushes the door open, closes it as tacitly as he can, and trudges down the road to the bus stop.

\-----

Now, the bus driver really was not expecting a twelve-year-old to step onto his bus at five am, so he asks cautiously, "Uh, where are you're parents, kid?"

Jason's hands are itching, they're actually _burning_ as he stims, rubbing the pads of his fingers between each other.

"I n-- I need to go to Brookside close." He whimpers, placing the money atop the counter sitting betwixt the two strangers.

"Kid, I-" His gruff voice starts, but until he sees the hot, clear tears running down Jason's ruddy cheeks, he lets him on, not charging the poor kid.

Jason trudges to the back of the bus, curling himself up against the murky window, the crooks begrimed with thick black mould. Obviously they hadn't cleaned them. The company - whoever they were, Jason knew, but his brain was too slipped to remember - needed to do that sometime soon. His wreath of curls fell in front of his baby blue eyes as he counts the dots on the floor of the grimy vehicle as it gives a heavy sigh, slowly chugging to his destination. He knows how long it takes, it's only a measly 4 stops, but it is _achingly_ slow, each pothole like a jolt to his nervous system.

He stands in front of his father's door, chest heaving after the flights of stairs, and his heart is slamming harshly against his rib cage and echoing through his ears as he brings a shaking fist to knock on the door, then repeatedly ring the doorbell. His father comes stumbling to the door, eyes half open, until he spots his son, who looks a whole lot like he's about to crumble on the spot.

"Jase?" His fathers gruff, raspy voice is what sends him over, and he lets a sob break past the knot in his throat, followed by another, and now he's weeping on the doorstep of his fathers small yet homely apartment. Marvin scoops him in his strong arms, which only pierces Jason's heart even more, because God, is he going to miss this when-

When his father dies.

"P-Please-" He chokes out, "Don't-- Don't die. D-Dad, Dad ple-- _please_ -"

"Hey, ssh, I'm right here." Marvin's heart breaks every time a sob wracks his son's small frame, as he falls apart in Marvin's arms. He's never seen Jason like this. Showing such raw emotion.

"I'm gonna pick you up now, is that okay?" He asks, to which Jason all but clings to his father. He carries the quivering boy into his apartment, and lays him down on his own bed, stroking his soft curls until Jason's hyperventilating dies down to meek whimpers, and he can open his eyes, to see his father, his _father_ , there, right in front of him. He can touch him, he can hear him, he can see him.

"Dad, Dad p-please-"

"Hey. Hey, ssh. I know, I know." Marvin mumbles, although he doesn't know. He doesn't know what is running through his son's head right now. He has no clue.

But he's still scared.

Of _course_ Marvin is scared. He knows what's going to happen. How he'll wind up in the end. He'll waste away, achingly slowly, bones peeking through meek, pale skin, which is littered with blotches of pink, red and purple; Throwing up dinner and then some when his stomach has nothing else to offer. How the sickly sharp medicine will slowly make clumps of his hair fall to the ground like dead autumn leaves which are on the brisk of a harsh winter to come. His lungs will grow tired and raspy, coughs burning his throat like sandpaper every other minute, and those horrid, dreaded night sweats will plague him till the end. He'll grow indescribably weak, feeble arms shaking with either fear, fatigue, chills, or a combination of them all.

"It's five o'clock, buddy. What're you doing here?" He questions, watching as Jason wrings his hands in his shirt.

"I-I just, I don't want to w-watch you- watch you _die_ \- I, I-" And he can't get anything else out, because his throat is in knots and his brain is whirring at a mile a minute, and he sits up to stare at his father through bleary eyes, which sends Marvin crying himself.

"Please dad-" And they're tightly embracing again, tears are spilling uncontrollably as they grasp each others shirts, symphonies of sobs crashing against the cream walls.

"I'm here, Jason, I'm here." Although the mood is dark, shirts are damp, they hold each other through it all. Marvin's mind wonders to the night he got drunk enough to get off, and lacklustre eyes staring out onto the abyss as he waits for Trina to come stumbling out of the bathroom; He didn't expect, however, for the white stick in her grasp - cleaned, of course - to have two pink lines scratched across its end, making time stop and voices grow hoarse from yelling. But Jason was probably the very best thing Marvin had ever had. His childhood was full of sneers, pressure, and numerous nights awaking in cold sweats, with the hushed whispers of the wind like voices telling him he was wrong, he was disgusting. He promised himself, in that small, sickeningly white hospital room which reeked of anti-bacterial after hours of crying and groaning, with their child - shit, their _child_ \- in the next room, that he'd give Jason the best childhood he possible could. And his mission was most definitely not over.

Once the sobs had faded down into heaving breaths, Marvin compromises, "Hey. It's late, I'll make sure your mother gives you the day off school, but you need to sleep, okay?"

"Okay." Jason shakily agrees, whilst Marvin tucks him in. He kisses him goodnight, and makes for the telephone sitting on his blue wall of his living room.

"Marvin?" Mendel's groggy, raspy voice comes crackling over the receiver, and guilt stabs at Marvin's heart because damnit, he woke him up. It must be hard coping with Jason and the recent passing anyway, he needed the sleep.

"Hey, 'Del. I've, uh, I've got Jase? Here with me?"

His voice begins to grow panicked, "Fuck, I didn't even hear him leave."

"It's okay, he's in bed now. When he comes home, could you let him have a couple days off? The poor kid is traumatised." Marvin sits on the armchair sitting close to the wall.

"I gathered," And judging by the grunt on the other end of the line, Mendel has sat down too. "But how are _you_?"

"Oh, so now you're back on the psychiatrist boat, huh?" Marvin muses, yet a hint of a smirk plays in his voice.

"Answer me, Marvin."

"I'm-- Okay. I mean, not okay? Well, you know how Charlotte-- She, she took me out of Whizzer's hospital room? Well, I just- It's every time I cough, I get so _petrified_ that I'll just, just collapse like he did. I'm ready for it, It sucks, 'Del, to just sit around waiting to die. Waiting for it to bite you." He stammers, flinching when his voice broke on the last word.

"We're always a phone call away, Marvin. You know that?"

"I- Yeah. I do."

"I'll tell Trin that he's with you, she'd shit herself if she woke up and he wasn't there." He chuckles, with Marvin following.

"Now go to sleep. According to Cordelia and Charlotte, you need it."

"Yeah. Night Mendel."

"Night Marvin." And the line goes dead, to which Marvin hangs the receiver on the wall, and stumbles back to bed, where he slept the easiest he had in weeks.

**Author's Note:**

> comment and kudos mean a lot! <33


End file.
